Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by Wishful Thinking2
Summary: Ever wondered what other mutants think of the x-men? And beyond that, how do a group of outcast mutants survive when they have no place to go?
1. Prologue: Meet the Ghost

A/N: Hey everybody! Your favorite reviewer is trying her hand at *writing* a story! Scary thought, but hold your breath and here goes. Special Thanks to my beta reader, silvercaladan  
  
Disclaimer: If you think I own the x-men, then you need to get your head checked. If you want to *give* me the x-men, then I *still* think you need to get your head checked. Why aren't you keeping them for yourself?? 'Course I never say no to a present.  
  
Prologue: Meet the Ghost  
  
The evening sun shines bleakly on the grimy streets. Unless you look closely, it doesn't look like anyone lives 'round here. A bunch of old apartments crowded together, most destined for the wrecking ball. 'Cept ours isn't mostly abandoned.  
  
As I'm sitting on my windowsill you can't see me. But it's not your eyesight. My window's on the eighth floor anyway, and most people don't crane their necks. Instead they hurry away, staring at either the pavement below their feet or the pavement straight in front of them. I always wonder what they're hurrying to, that they don't even glance around them. Maybe they think there's nothing worth seeing in a dump like this. Maybe they'd be right.  
  
'Cause even if you did look up, to see where the rain clouds were or something, I wouldn't be there. You see, I'm invisible. See-straight- through-me invisible. Practically a ghost and all. And when I'm perched on the ledge outside my eighth story window, I don't care if I fall. 'Cause I know that Celia will hear me screaming in her thoughts, and fly around to catch me. 'Cause you see, we're all like that here. We're all different.  
  
Guess you could call us mutants.  
  
'Cept were not like those mutants on TV. They get more media time than a lot of politicians, those X-Men and all. Pretty funny, though, since most political types hate their guts.  
  
And us? We just live here, in this old abandoned-looking building, escaping the police or the mobs, and sometimes the rest of our families. It's a safe haven for us misfits, and we'd like to keep it that way as long as it's possible.  
  
But who knows if it'll be possible anymore? 'Cause Jonathon saw a sign sayin that they're gonna build a big shopping complex and all here. And I don't think that they'll build it on top of all these dead apartments. Sometimes I think we'll be lucky if we know when that wrecking crew will come so we can get out.  
a/n: well, what do you think?? I know its kinda dark and all, but come on, this is just a prologue and I'm *sure* that if I get lots of reviews then my writing style will miraculously improve. And my sense of humor will erupt. (That can be good or bad) For the meantime, I need your support. Any ideas, questions, complaints, suggestions, random wanderings? The little blue box compels you to say something! 


	2. Children Should be Seen and Not Heard

A/N: Wow! After all those reviews, I had to keep writing! And due to popular demand, this is a 'cepts-and-'cause-free story!  
  
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I wasn't Stan Lee. I know my mirror sometimes lies, like when I first wake up, but I've never been confronted with me looking like that.  
  
Ch 1: "Children should be seen and not heard"  
  
"JULIAAAAA!"  
  
Gerald has a tendency to scream "Julia!" when he can't find me. I wonder how long it will take before he realizes that I could very well be sitting next to him. When he stuck his head out of the window, I was sitting on the windowledge. If there's anything I like less then Gerald, its Gerald screaming in my ear.  
  
"My name is NOT Julia, Gerald" I reminded irritably, "and I'm sitting right here."  
  
He jumped at that, like he was surprised he couldn't see me. It was funny the first hundred times. I've been Gerald's 'adopted daughter' since I first came to the city five years ago, and he's never really gotten used to my invisible-ness. Neither has he remembered that my name isn't Julia. I stopped using that name as soon as I could. Anything that reminds me of my life before this I've stopped using.  
  
"Why can't you call me Ghost like everyone else? And you knew I was out here. I am every evening."  
  
"Well, why can't you wear your bracelets like you're supposed to?" He grumbled. I think he doesn't like to seem so blind. When it puts me at an advantage over him, he hates it. "And when did your outfit go? Don't tell me we're gonna have to buy you another."  
  
My outfit actually went invisible a long time ago, but it's a favorite of mine and I wear it when I can. The mutant gene that makes me invisible also dyes my clothes the same. Basically, there's this pigment in your skin called melanin or something. Mine went past albino, even, so I'm invisible. Yet the mutation created this melanin everywhere in my body, so all of me is invisible. That's how my food becomes invisible, because it's digested and all that crud. My clothes go invisible because i sweat and all. It's strange, but I live with it. Having my neighbors live with it is different. The first week I was here, every time I entered into a room, somebody would scream. I guess they weren't used to seeing disembodied clothes walking about. And then, when my clothes would start turning invisible themselves, only my bracelets would show. Floating bracelets caused quite a commotion, too.  
  
"My bracelets are on" I responded, holding up two bracelet-ed wrists "And besides, what does it matter? I could very well walk around ass-naked and nobody'd care because they couldn't see me!"  
  
God, I love doing that to him. First his face goes all red, like I've said something horribly offensive and then he goes all purple, like he's about to smack me. And its more hilarious because he's green to begin with. He looks like a bunch of little kids dumped paint on him!  
  
"IN!" He fumed, "NOW!!"  
  
Before I had even started scrambling through the window, he began lecturing me. This time the first topic seemed to be about 'letting-your-guardians- know-where-you-are-because-they-sacrifice-so-much-for-you'. He then demonstrated the depth of his sacrifices by announcing he was locking me in my room without dinner. He didn't mention about how I stole the dinner myself.  
  
Then he started the tirade about 'being a lady'. Apparently, a 'lady' is decent, modest, doesn't shout, doesn't cuss, doesn't sit on windowledges, doesn't eat so much, doesn't sleep till noon, etc, etc, etc. I suppose they also giggle when guys even glance at them. Sometimes I wonder if Gerald is another time-traveler, and that he mysteriously got misplaced. Some simpering female is probably waiting for him in the Victorian era. At least I didn't get the lecture on how I'm supposed to look like a lady. They don't sell many petticoats and bustles around here.  
  
"Julia! Are you listening to me!" Obviously not.  
  
"Gerald, I'm not even answering to that name anymo. owwww!"  
  
Have you ever gotten hit by a 600 pound (yea, but the floor would probably collapse under him if he was any more.) cross between a dinosaur and the hulk? Because that's what Gerald's mutation makes him look like. Unfortunately, the damn gene gave him all the muscles too. But only enough brain power to lock the door behind him like he threatened.  
  
I figured if I lay there moaning for a couple of minutes, he'd go down to dinner and forget about me. The floors creak, so I could hear him lumbering away. After a while, I got up and applied myself to the doorknob. The bolts around here are laughingly easy, and only it took a couple of seconds before I was out of my prison. My stomach started growling, so I made my way to the kitchen.  
  
Our apartment's about eight stories. Story 7 is completely floorless, story 6 has all the debris from story 7, and 5 and 4 are mostly falling apart. Plus, we stay off of the ground level, so if anyone happens by, they can't see us. That leaves 2, 3, and 8. 3 and 8 are rooms, and 2 is a combination kitchen, living room, storage, and everything else. So to get from level 8, where the hungry teenager is, to level 2, where the food is, you have six flights of stairs waiting you. Luckily, there's a banister!  
  
I crept through the door into the kitchen area. Gerald, Celia, Jesse, Trish, Jonathon, and the rest were already sitting down at the table. We make a pretty motley group, all of us at a table like that. It almost looks like one of those "what's wrong with this picture" things, especially with Jonathan's horns and Gerald's dinosaur tail. But what caught my eye was what they were eating. I eyed the food enviously. It's not everyday that we get a full meal; chicken, rice, even some vegetables were proudly spread out on the table. Unfortunately, there wasn't any left on the counter, where I could easily get it. If I wanted to eat, it would have to be leftovers from yesterday: stale bread and cold soup. I picked it up when everyone was distracted by something on the small black and white TV. I think it was about the X-Men, but I slipped out of the room.  
  
I sat down upstairs, in one of the more intact rooms on the fifth floor that no one uses. But before I could even make a sardonic comment to myself about the rotten food, I was grabbed from behind, pulled up by the shoulders, and held there, hanging several inches off the ground. There's only one person I know who does that.  
  
a/n: How like me to end my first chapter on a cliffhanger!! Okay, so maybe not, but still, I tried! Anyway, any guesses on who it is? Could it be the ugly and blundering Gerald, likely still mad about the whole "unladylike" incident? Or could it be someone else? Muahahahahaha!  
  
Yes, that little blue box *is* for therapy reasons. Click, write, send, and make me happy! Also useful for telling me what I'm doing wrong. Though I can't promise you that I'll agree. Any ideas for more mutations? I'm running out! 


	3. Don't Get Too Comfortable

a/n: okay, I was going to try to stay with more "seeing aphorisms" as chapter titles, but I could think of any that would work, so live without it!  
  
Disclaimer: pesky copyrights. I don't own the x-men. So hah. I don't think I even own Ghost, Jon, Gerald, Celia, or anybody else in the abandoned apartment. Sometimes they have a mind of their own and I doubt they'd let me.  
  
Ch. 2: Don't get too comfortable.  
  
"Sneaking around again, huh?" teased the voice behind me. "Jonathan, leggoame!" "Not yet, not yet. Hey! Stop struggling! I won't be able to catch you again, you know" "That's the point!" I said through gritted teeth. "If I don't know where you are, how am I supposed to talk to you?" "Well, I was hoping I'd get the chance to eat, so maybe you should talk to where the food is disappearing!" "You call that food?" Jon looked at my meal with distaste, "that's pig slop!" "You ate it yesterday. It ain't pig slop if it keeps you alive.Jon?" He had stopped listening and was staring at my face.  
  
"You're bruised." "How perceptive. I'll have more if you don't let go soon!" He dropped me, and I fell to the floor. "Was that how you saw me?" I asked, wincing as I poked at the spreading blue and black. For some reason, discolorations on my skin show up despite the mutant gene. "No" he said, sitting down, "you give off a shadow."  
  
Crap. I had forgotten that. If anything, I figured the floating food would have given me away. I poked at the 'pig slop' in front of me. "I don't suppose there's any chicken left?" I asked wistfully. Jon grinned at me, "wouldn't you rather eat your leftovers?" "Jon, I freakin stole that chicken myself! Aren't I allowed to have some of it?" I was quickly losing patience. "Well, I dunno, should you? I seem to recall Gerald mentioning a reason why you weren't down for dinner."  
  
I put my head in my hands. Sure, he can joke all he wants, but I was getting a headache from lack of food. "Damnit, Jon, I didn't do anything worthy of getting starved! I feel like I haven't eaten all day! Why the hell are you siding with him? You know how awful he." I had raised my head to yell at Jon, but was instead met with a steaming plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables. Aside from the horns poking up out of his hair, Jon's kind of a telekinetic; he snaps his fingers, and stuff starts flying around. Apparently, he flew a plate up here when I wasn't looking.  
  
Jon was laughing at me. "If you're gonna sit there gaping, you might as well eat!" I poked at it with my fork, then started shoveling it into my mouth. I couldn't swallow fast enough, and ended up choking on half of it anyway while trying to thank Jon. It tasted fantastic!  
  
I was just about finished when I noticed that I was alone. I started to turn around, but was stopped by a pair of giant hands pulling me upwards. "This is getting repetitive," I started to say, but realized that Jon was over by the window. He had the soup bowl and he looked like he was about to dump its contents out the window. But he also looked somehow frightened. Even his horns were shaking a little. Then I glanced up at my captor.  
  
"Shit" I was looking at an enraged face of green and purple. Gerald apparently wasn't too happy with my little escape from punishment. And it looked like I was gonna get it even worse.  
  
a/n: when, oh, when did my story degenerate into a drama? And why?? Maybe all those movies really did affect my brain. Hope it's not too unbearable. I'll try to add a couple plot twists later on! Which reminds me, how many chapters do you guys want? I gotta plan out what goes when.  
  
Meanwhile, it seems I have grown addicted to my review highs. And you can help, too! No needles, pills or powder needed, just click the little blue box! 


	4. Fortune is Blind, but Not Invisible

a/n: I'm not making any promises with this chapter, my beta reader scrawled all over it in red and then informed me that she's going to Colorado, goodbye! So this is just gonna be great, I personally don't think its up to standards, since I had to change the whole plot, but here goes anyway.  
  
And in case you're dense like that ~~ indicates telepathic thought.  
  
Disclaimer: its summer! ::dances the happy dance:: It's time to burn in the hot, oven-like Texas sun!  
  
Ch. 3: "Fortune is blind, but not invisible"  
  
"Good god, girl, what happened to you?" a voice uncomfortably close to my head gasped. "Celia, a good god had very little to do in the matter." I muttered groggily as I tried to regain enough consciousness to speak. "Isn't it painfully obvious? I've been stuck in a room, alone, for what seems like the past week, and to top it all off, I've got food poisoning!" "Well, we tried to find you." Jon grumbled, from behind her "guess we didn't try hard enough, huh?" I glared at him. I see them for the first time in a couple of days, and now they're mad at me!  
  
~~Well, I'm not mad at you~~ Celia reminded me, sarcastically, in my head~~ if you hadn't noticed. ~~ I'm gonna really need to learn those helpful mindblocks. ~~ And, no, don't damn me for reading your thoughts. He's only being obnoxious because he doesn't know what else to be. You should have seen him after Gerald dragged you out. He was a nervous wreck, going on about how if he hadn't brought that plate of food up Gerald wouldn't have been able to follow it and then.~~ The link snapped shut as Jon started getting that pouting 'why am I not included?' look on his face. "So what exactly did he do to you?" he asked me coolly, probably preparing for the worst.  
  
"Nothing exactly life threatening, and for that I'm probably fortunate" I smiled grimly. "He just locked me in the storage room on the roof for a couple days to get me out of the way." Jon was silent. Celia muttered something about starvation tactics. "He did come up with that muck Jon almost threw out the window" I admitted, and glanced at him. "Did you eat it?" he asked. "When he made me," I confessed. "That's when I got food poisoning. It musta gotten something in it." Celia shuddered, and I heard a couple of curses from Jon's corner.  
  
"Well," Celia said with fake brightness, "We're here to cheer you up! Right?" Getting no response, she nudged Jon sharply in the ribs. "Yeah sure" he said gloomily. "Try as hard as you like. I need some too." I could see Celia furiously berating him in his head for being such a pessimist. I decided to stop trying to figure out what they were mentally saying, and promptly fell asleep again.  
  
I woke up with a stomach pushing up into my throat. Mindlessly, I kicked away the sheet and promptly fell off the bed. I managed to pull myself up in time to empty my entire stomach into the conveniently placed trashcan. Sprawled in a mess of sheets, with vomit covering half my face and some of my hair, I felt awful and prayed equally for both nobody to see me and for somebody to help me. When I tried to pull myself up, another round of dry heaves hit me. Giving up, I collapsed and resigned myself to an awful day.  
  
"Isn't it rather early in the morning to be sick?" a voice from the doorway asked grinningly a few minutes later. "Hilarious." I rasped while attempting to regain a shred of dignity. At least Jon was himself, even if I didn't feel right. "It would have been a fun rumor to spread, if I could've" Jon added thoughtfully as he helped me up and led me to the sink. Right. "And would that be before or after Gerald mauled you into bloody bits?" I responded sarcastically, attempting to wash myself up in the sink. He blinked at me. Apparently he had overlooked that part of the equation for morning sickness.  
  
The topic of Gerald's temper was also perhaps not the best one to bring up.  
  
He was still silent when he helped me back into bed and methodically straightened the sheet around me. Fantastic. Was he still worrying? "It wasn't your fault, you know." I blurted out. He looked at me, surprised. Then he grinned, and the old Jon was back again. "Telepaths should really be locked up. Especially her. She's been onto my case since all this started, the little gossip. But, really, it's better to see you up and about. Though I don't know if falling off the bed and puking up your stomach really counts as 'up and about'." I decided to ignore his nasty expression as he peered over into the wastebasket. "Where's she now anyway?"  
  
Come to think of it, when was now? How long had I been sleeping, anyway? "Finding breakfast." was Jon's reply "I was supposed to wake you up. Celia opted out of it, she hasn't really got good bedside manner" I laughed. "'Bedside manner'! So I guess that remark about morning sickness is your twisted version of bedside manner?" "Well, I haven't really had a lot of practice." he drawled suggestively. I threw the pillow at him.  
  
It wasn't much longer until Celia pushed open the door, holding breakfast. "Will you be able to eat this?" she asked me, showing us a packet of sweet cinnamon rolls. "Sugary and entirely non-healthy" she added. "I'll try!" I replied, reaching over to attack the infuriating plastic wrap. I love cinnamon rolls. "Yeah, just 'try' to not throw up this time, huh?" Jon teased as he dragged the smelly trashcan out of the room.  
  
~~Feeling better are you? ~~ said Celia sarcastically ~~you're grinning like a little idiot~~ ~~Hey, at least I'm 'cheered up'~~ I replied, licking the frosting off my chin.  
  
Jon was blissfully unaware of this little exchange as he rejoined us and grabbed a cinnamon roll.  
  
A/N: I've always commented on how in the marvel universe the telepaths (and empaths) seem to be the only ones who can tell what people are really feeling. The problem is that they're all so 'honorable' that they don't snoop into other people's minds. (Well, Emma does. I liked her in the very first comic I read of her, but that was when she wasn't trying to seduce unwitting reporters or Scott or anything) So what do we make of Celia the gossip? heehee.  
  
Ah yes. ~~Click the little blue box.~~ ~~Click it I say!~~ 


	5. She who Can't Endure the Bad Will Not Li...

A/N: know that carol: "It came upon a midnight clear"? Well this chapter came upon a midnight rainy, but same difference. Just a little angsty-ish filler space. Promise longer chapters later.  
  
Chapter 5: "She that can't endure the bad will not live to see the good"  
  
The sun was setting on the town, dusky rays shone upon streets that glittered from the past day's rain. At first glance, there was only a young man walking down the streets alone. Yet he was talking, and an answering voice confirmed the presence of another. But who could this be? An imaginary friend, perhaps, brought magically to life by the hopes and dreams of.  
  
~~Celia. Your 'commentary' is getting sickly saccharine and disgustingly maudlin. Stop, please!~~ ~~Aren't you gonna tell me to 'cease and desist'?~~ she laughed ~~I can't help myself, its sooo lonely here when you two decide to escape.~~ I shook my head wildly in an attempt to get the voice out of it. Then I immediately regretted it when the headache returned.  
  
The guy next to me chuckled understandingly. "Don't ya hate having her in your head?" I muttered an agreement. Unfortunately, I also stumbled. Jon grabbed my shoulders and asked if I was okay. I nodded, even as my head throbbed and my knees went limp. Undaunted, I convinced myself that I wasn't going to get any better if I kept feeling so weak, so I continued walking. I was gonna show them I was better if it killed me! And at this point it felt like it probably would. Ironic, huh?  
  
It had been a week since I had come down with this food poisoning, and it hadn't gone away. Since being cooped up makes me crazy, I had been trying to let Janine, our resident 'doctor', let me get up and about for the past couple of days. She finally relented, on the condition that I stay relatively near the building and that Jon accompany me. Being Jon's foster parent, she had taught him first aid and figured I'd be safer with him than with Celia. Feeling excluded, Celia had decided to get revenge by thoughtfully telling me all sorts of reasons why I would not be safer with a guy than with her. When I seemed relatively immune to her taunts, she decided to stick in my head and stay there.  
  
Apparently, Celia found this thought floating around in my mind, and decided it was more scary than ironic, because before I knew what was happening, Jon had pulled me into a doorway and was staring at me rather searchingly. I squirmed. "If it kills you, huh?" he asked pointedly. "Any use asking why you've gone all suicidal?" "I'm not suicidal" I muttered lamely. "Nah, you just want to prove a point." Jon replied heatedly "you want to show that bastard Gerald that he didn't hurt you as much as he wanted to. You want to show that you're stronger than that, that you can handle this. You want to be as invulnerable as you are invisible!"  
  
I could feel the blood rushing to my face and for once was glad he couldn't see me. Damn him! Damn Celia! Why'd they have to get in my business like this? I stared at the floor. I felt like the power to say anything intelligent had left me. But Jon had one last thing to say.  
  
"We know that Gerald doesn't control you, that nobody can control your life. You don't have to prove it to us."  
  
I finally looked up at him. "Yeah, I do" I replied. "I have to prove it because he does control me. Did you know he moved everything in my room, all of my disappeared clothes? I can't find them if I can't see them. I need to prove I can cope, with or without him. That being invisible hasn't stopped me from having a normal existence!, I wanted to lose everything that had to do with me before my life shattered. That's why I moved here, I ran away from the taunts, the unspoken criticism. I don't want to be invulnerable, I just want to be indifferent."  
  
I could feel myself breaking down. God help me, I was gonna start bawling. But, somehow, I couldn't stop talking. "Did you know that sometimes I have a hard time remembering what I looked like before I started disappearing? That I have to stare in the mirror for a long while before the pictures start coming back to me? It's been five years since I've seen my own face!" I was really choked up now, and I blinking away the unwanted dampness in my eyes.  
  
But I realized I didn't have to say anymore. No one expected me to. And so I cried out the next few minutes into Jon's shirt, belatedly realizing that Celia had shut off her link long ago. Maybe she has a sense of decency after all.  
  
A/n: Hip hip hooray, ive passed the 20 review mark! But that doesn't mean I'd mind hitting 25. 


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